


What's good for you

by ArrogantConqueror



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, Implied Relationships, M/M, Past Character Death, and not sad sex, mentions of drug use/recovery, sad sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArrogantConqueror/pseuds/ArrogantConqueror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s three months sober,” you muttered, glancing up. Tavros’s smile twisted a little but he made an affirming noise in his throat.</p><p>“He never stopped owing it to you. Every inch of progress he made, he’d find a way to bring it back to you.”</p><p>Your index finger swooped down the ‘G’, thumb on the ‘A’. “He was an idiot.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ["Prompt": violently demands sadstuck to the song ‘Hate Me’ by Blue October when i’m back](http://curiosity-killed-meulin.tumblr.com/post/39927583014/violently-demands-sadstuck-to-the-song-hate-me)
> 
> [tumblr mirror](http://kamehamebrah.tumblr.com/post/39933002148/curiosity-killed-meulin-violently-demands).

It was almost insulting, now, you thought. The bright red circle surrounding a large, sharp “3 mo.” screamed at you from the calendar in a manner so foreign, so uncomfortable. It made your skin crawl. You wanted nothing more than to rip the calendar off the wall and tear it up until there was nothing left but broken, decaying pieces.

You turned away.

Before you had the calendar, you hadn’t cared much for dates or anniversaries. But you finally had something to keep track of, now. You could almost remember the bubbles of excitement that had threatened to burst your skin right off your body as you diligently went through all twelve months, all twelve black-and-white landscapes.

One week.

Two weeks.

Three weeks.

One month.

Two months.

It had seemed to easy to do when you had mapped it all out. Comparing many minutes to few hours: a matter of perspective and number games. And though your realistic disposition had taken over soon enough, you maintained an underlining of optimism.

You tried to not think about it anymore.

You had packed away his belongings that were strewn about the apartment and had shamelessly begged a friend to put them in his room. You couldn’t go in. You haven’t to this day. The thought of entering, let alone clearing everything out, finding another purpose for that room, made you absolutely sick. There were still some nights when you would curl against the wall that had split your room and his, the old paint and worn drywall a poor substitute for his rhythmic breathing and body heat.

Other nights, you slept with your phone clutched to your chest. Waiting for it to go off. Waiting for responses to texts and voicemails that you’d left in the first few weeks afterwards, when the pain was still fresh and new and easy to forget. Old habits die—

Old habits are hard to get rid of.

You sat on the couch. Other than your room and the bathroom, the couch was the only other place you could stand to be. You avoided the kitchen — his domain — and you wondered how long you could put that off until the stench of rotting food drove you mad.

You didn’t like to be in the apartment.

The hesitant knock at the front door was thunder. It was quiet, too quiet, so quiet. Before, you would have done anything for just five minutes of silence. Now you find yourself tapping your fingers and breathing loudly to fill the gaps in noise that he had left behind with his shoes and his toothbrush.

“It’s open,” you called out. You stood up anyway. You knew exactly who was at the door, and your need to get out of the apartment was almost as great as your need to avoid those disappointed brown eyes. You’d seen enough of them.

Tavros opened the door just as you reached the entryway, doing this thing with his mouth that you think you used to know how to do.

“Hey,” he said. You didn’t respond. He didn’t expect you to. He inched the strap of his bag back on his shoulder and waited for you to put on your shoes and coat.

As soon as you locked the door, he took your hand, fingers lacing with yours. You hadn’t let anyone touch you for a while. Unobtrusive, gentle, Tavros had fixed that. 

Winter hadn’t quiet settled in yet, leaving the streets cold and empty. There weren’t even any leaves left on the ground. The city held its breath and waited for snow.

He hummed as you walked, a vaguely nautical tune that you couldn’t quite place. You thought it might involve a trombone. But honestly, you couldn’t care less what the content was: you just welcomed the sound. He interspersed the song with idle chatter, commenting on the new restaurants that had opened, and how long it had taken to unpack the latest shipment at the bookstore where he worked. He asked if you were still taking your medication and you nodded.

The world kept turning, and that seemed to be the greatest injustice of all.

You opened the cemetery gate and tugged Tavros along behind you. He’d stopped talking after deciding that it would be fun for the two of you to check out the new burrito place for lunch later, and had resumed his humming. You were exhausted.

Neither of you had to think about the path to take anymore — it came as naturally as blinking, now. Ten rows in, three columns over. The headstone was as simple as the pleasures he’d taken to, just his name and lifespan. It had been up to you to think of an epitaph, as he hadn’t left one. A fallacy of youth, forgetting that eternity was for fairy tales and promises one didn’t intend to keep. It would have taken all of the granite the world had twice over to fit what you wanted to say.

Your unoccupied hand reached out and traced over the letters of his name while Tavros fished around in his bag, pulling out a tightly-wrapped bouquet. The yellow roses hurt your eyes.

He took his hand back to unwrap the flowers, fussing with them a bit to spread them back out and make them presentable. Once he was satisfied, he stuffed the wrapping back in his bag and laid the bouquet on top of the headstone.

“No,” you said, your voice hoarse and unfamiliar. Tavros glanced at you uncertainly, but nevertheless moved the flowers onto the ground. On its way back up, his hand hesitated at the name, nails digging into the counter-relief letters. The other one caught yours again.

You understood what your best friend had seen in Tavros that had so enraptured his heart.

“He’s three months sober,” you muttered, glancing up. Tavros’s smile twisted a little but he made an affirming noise in his throat.

“He never stopped owing it to you. Every inch of progress he made, he’d find a way to bring it back to you.”

Your index finger swooped down the ‘G’, thumb on the ‘A’. “He was an idiot.”

Tavros was quiet, but in that tense, heavy way that meant he wanted to disagree but couldn’t find a polite way to do so. The dope never made waves, if he could help it. He had been the comfort to counteract your tough love; he was who Gamzee had turned to in good times. Tavros just didn’t have the backbone for anger, but he had the heart for dismay, which was perhaps even worse. Even you, infallible Karkat, were not immune. You could only imagine the effect Tavros’s dejected pout had on Gamzee, who was head over heels for the boy.

You sometimes wondered how assuaging it actually was to be around Tavros.

“I want to leave.” His fingers tightened around yours. “The counsellor thinks it’s a good idea.”

“Are you going to?”

You squeezed back and thought of friends in distant places who would gladly take you in. “I don’t think I can.”

The wind kicked up a little. It was warm and gentle; your superstitious father had always said that was a sign of imminent snow. You hoped the roses would last for a while.

“Bye, Gamzee,” you whispered. “I’m gonna go get a burrito now.”

Tavros chuckled and pressed a kiss to his own fingers before giving the headstone one last pat.

He stayed the night with you. You slept with your back to the wall, dreaming of honking laughter and closed doors.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally created a little bit more to this. The rating will change with the next chapter.

Tavros had sort of moved in with you. He didn't have his own drawer or anything of the sort, but he spent more time in the apartment than in his own little house outside the city.

You had believed that you'd be unable to live with another person, but by that same token, you couldn't stand the thought of being alone again. Tavros's awkward not-roommate situation with you felt like a good starting place to figure out which you could bear less: being with people, or being alone.

Alone, like you were before Gamzee.

Gamzee's bedroom remained sealed, a tomb gathering dust that would be more painful to clear than his belongings. Neither you nor Tavros even acknowledged that the door existed. But Tavros hadn't allowed the kitchen to remain on its slow path to wreckage and infestation.

You yelled at him the first time he went in. He pleaded with you and pet your hair until you fell asleep. And then he waited for you to wake up before trying again.

The second time, you left him to his own devices.

He took that liberty with most things concerning you and the apartment. He regularly cleaned the bathroom, your bedroom, the living room. He kept food in the fridge and got you a part-time job at the veterinary clinic where he worked.

You tried to get rid of him.

At every turn, you screamed. You fought. You hit him (though it did more damage to your hand than to his chest or his arms). You wept and let him pet your hair until you fell asleep.

Most of your friends had fallen mostly out of touch a few weeks after the funeral. Kanaya still checked in on you, mostly via phone. Sollux would e-mail and i-m you with tickets and passes to get you out of the apartment and into concerts, movies, theme parks. You didn't know if Terezi was even still in the city.

That hurt less as the days passed.

But Tavros had stayed. Tavros had found the niche in your life that Gamzee had left, and had gently expanded his own until they crossed.

It was weird.

It was painful.

The first time you noticed he'd left a toothbrush at the apartment, you nearly threw it away. You poured the milk you knew he had bought for himself down the drain. You left him to sleep on the couch with only his clothes.

It was wrong.

He had quietly purchased another carton and had coffee ready for you when you woke up.


End file.
